


The Next Turn

by Nezclaw, Rochelle_Templer



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Series, good wholesome bonding time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 16:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nezclaw/pseuds/Nezclaw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: Another RP between me and my friend, from an ask prompt.





	The Next Turn

 

> ### "That doesn't look like a scratch."

Micky looked up from his work. He had managed to sneak into the house without Mike actually looking at him. The Texan had been too busy making lunch. When asked where he was going, the drummer had mentioned “taking care of a scratch.”

 He had managed to get the gauze almost completely wrapped around the wound before Mike came in and saw what he was doing. 

“What this?” he said, pointing at his arm. “It’s no big deal.”

The Texan sighed internally as he looked at Micky tending his injury. It was amazing to Mike just how accident-prone the drummer was. He could not understand how anyone could show so much disregard towards their own safety. Hardly a week went by without Micky coming back with some sort of contusion…and yet as soon as he’d gotten himself patched up out he’d go again. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken a leg by now.

Mike watched him levelly.

“No big deal.” he echoed. “That’s what you said two weeks ago when your hand slipped when chopping vegetables.” He approached the drummer. “And you know how that turned out.”

“Well ok, but you have to admit that that carrot was like a rock,” Micky said. “And besides, I was gonna burn the potatoes if I didn’t get that done right away.” 

He pinned the gauze in place and inspected it for a moment, satisfied with his work. Then looked back up at Mike.

“Ok, that cut did hurt, but it healed up really quick, right?” he added. “And we didn’t miss any gigs.”

“ _You_ didn’t miss any gigs.” Mike corrected automatically. “I told you this is only a temporary thing.”

Micky let out a dramatic sigh and leaned back against the wall. He was convinced that Mike would be the perfect addition for their new group, The Monkees. The Texan was a great guitar player and was able to pick up their sound quickly. He had hoped that after playing a couple of shows, Mike would agree and decide to stay in the group. 

The fact that the Texan was still referring to this arrangement as “temporary” reminded Micky that he still had a lot of work to do.

“Ok, I didn’t miss any gigs,” he said. “But man, we sounded great the other night. Didn’t you see that crowd? They were really digging you. And us.”

Micky fiddled with his bandage. He hoped that he had put enough disinfectant on his cut so that it would heal quickly. It was already starting to feel really sore.

“Yeah, well…” Mike shrugged. The crowd had enjoyed it, but he doubted it was because of him. And guitar players were everywhere. Micky’d have no problem finding another guitarist once Mike moved on. They would be fine without him.

Right?

“How did you hurt yourself this time?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to distract himself from the doubts creeping in regarding his leaving, the nagging feeling of guilt about leaving the three of them unsupervised for any length of time. Which was ridiculous. They were all grown men, perfectly capable of taking care of themselves without him.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Micky repeated with a laugh. “It was just something that could happen to anyone. You know how it is.”

Micky looked back down at his bandage and sighed inwardly. He knew that the Texan would never take that as an answer. He’d want to know how he had gotten this gash on his arm. Granted, it wasn’t something that needed stitches, but it was still hard to miss. 

“It was just something stupid,” he said. “I know I probably shouldn’t have listened to Darren, but well, he dared me to do it.”

“He dared you.” Mike repeated flatly. This wasn’t the first time this had happened either. Micky would do just about anything for attention. And that was worrying. “Micky…”

“Ok, I know that sounds bad, but it’s not really,” Micky insisted. “I had really wanted to try out that skateboard anyway. It looked like fun whenever I saw you on one.”

Micky sighed. That wasn’t the only pertinent part of the story, but he hoped that Mike would be satisfied with that much information rather than questioning him on what had actually gotten him hurt.

“Let me guess.” Mike sighed. “You stepped on the skateboard and it rolled out from underneath you?”

Micky scratched his head. “Um, sure yeah. Both of those things did happen….eventually.”

Micky inwardly kicked himself. He wasn’t a very good liar at the best of times. And something about the way Mike stared at him made him even worse at it. He often wished he knew the Texan’s secret for prodding the truth out of him. 

Not that he thought that Mike would ever reveal it himself.

“ ’Eventually.’ Micky… what happened.” Mike repeated. He almost didn’t want to know. Knowing Micky it was something stupid and dangerous. And Mike found he didn’t like seeing Micky get hurt. It bothered him to see Micky scraped up like that, even if it didn’t bother Micky any.

Micky squirmed around. Even though he had only known Mike for a short while; he was pretty sure he already knew what the Texan’s reaction was going to be to this story. That it was stupid and dangerous and why did he do it? It wasn’t that he minded that Mike cared so much. 

It was just awkward to explain things after they happened.

“Well…I was talking to Darren and he was telling me about how skateboards can do tricks,” he said. “You know, kind of like what surfboarders do? He said he saw someone do a cool trick where they slid their skateboard under a fence or something and then they jumped over and landed on the board on the other side.”

Micky stood up and walked out of the bathroom and out into the front room, fully expecting Mike to follow him.

“And I thought…well…how hard could that be?”

“For someone who’s never been on a skateboard before? Nearly impossible.” Mike drawled. “I’m not sure I would try it.” He followed Micky out. But of course that wouldn’t stop Micky, would it, he thought.

“Hey, it almost worked,” Micky responded. “I was getting the hang of it faster than you might think. You know, I’m not bad at all on a surfboard. And I figured, they’re pretty much the same thing, right? Surfboard. Skateboard. It’s not that different.”

Micky threw himself onto the couch, wincing a little as his arm made contact with the upholstery. He scooted himself along the couch so he could hang his head over the side and look at Mike upside down.

“And I got most of it right,” he said. “I got the skateboard moving. I cleared the fence. My feet hit the skateboard on the other side.. But then, well, that’s when things went wrong.”

“Of course it did.” Mike muttered. “That’s when the board slid out from under you, right? And you lost yer balance.” He raised an eyebrow at Micky. “Or is there somethin’ else yer not tellin’ me?”

“Well….” Micky said, twisting his fingers about nervously. “Yeah, that’s about right. I would have been ok if I had just fallen. Then I would have landed on the lawn. Which would have hurt, but it wouldn’t have been that bad.”

Micky sat up and spun around so that his feet were dangling over the armrests.

“But then I sorted tripped as I fell and that’s when I ended up hitting the sidewalk instead.”

Of course Micky would manage to trip over his own feet while falling off a skateboard, Mike thought to himself. It was inevitable, really.

“You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” he asked. The way Micky had to fall to get scraped like that…

“Not very hard, no,” Micky answered. Truthfully, there was a little bump forming on his head, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as his arm did. However, the bactine he had put on his cut was starting to make it hurt a little less. Still, he wouldn’t be surprised if he got a headache later on.

“Hey, uh, do we got anything to eat?” he asked. “I’m really hungry right now.”

Mike made a note to keep an eye on Micky the next few  days, in case he had a concussion or something.

“Yeah, I made sandwiches.” Peter had offered to make lunch, but after the first time Mike had tasted his cooking there was no way Mike was going to let him waste food like that. He wondered, yet again, how in the world they had managed up to this point in time. It seemed like there was not a moment that went by where he wasn’t getting them out of trouble of one sort or another. And he was supposed to be looking for work… but taking care of these three was turning into a full time job.

“Great,” Micky said, jumping up and rushing to the kitchen. “Hopefully, we still have some of the potato chips too.”

Micky grabbed a sandwich and went back out to the front room to eat. “Hey, let’s do something different tonight,” he said as he chewed. “We could make a campfire on the beach and make s’mores. Mmm, this is really good. Thanks babe.”

Mike blinked.

“Uh, yeah, sure. That sounds groovy.” he said as he tried to process Micky’s last statement. Did…did Micky really just call him ‘babe’? Why? Did he really like him that much? Or was this some new ploy to get him to stay? Mike wasn’t sure what to think. Micky didn’t seem to think anything of it, he looked to be fully invested in his sandwich and not interested in Mike’s reaction.

It could be a trick… but Mike realized he doubted it. In the months he had been here, Micky had never given any sign that he was anything other than what he appeared to be. A friendly, cheerful individual with poor impulse control. Speaking of which…

“You’d better let me light the bonfire though.”

“Oh? Ok, sure,” Micky smiled at him. “Hey, do we have any hot dogs left? We could roast a couple of them too.”

Honestly, Micky had been kind of surprised that Mike had agreed to this impromptu cookout. Davy or Peter would normally be much likely to be up for this sort of thing, but they were out of town so Micky figured that he’d give asking Mike a try. It wasn’t that Micky saw him as unfriendly, but Mike did seem to prefer to keep to himself. 

Still, he figured that the Texan could use some fun once in a while so Micky never stopped trying to suggest things to do with him.

Mike was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Micky actually genuinely liked him. No one liked him. Tolerated maybe, but not _liked_. He was used to it, in fact he rather expected it. It’s not like he tried to make himself likeable or anything… but Micky still called him ‘babe’. You don’t say that to people you don’t like.

“I think we do, unless Peter ate them when I wasn’t looking.” Mike replied as he went to check the fridge. “Yeah they’re still there.”

“Groovy,” Micky said, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. “Then let’s grab those and some buns too. Hey, if we’ve got some beer or some pop, we can make a real meal out of this.” Granted, Micky wasn’t quite as hungry now as he was a few minutes ago, but he was certain that he’d be fine with eating again once it got darker.

“Hey, how to you like your hot dogs?” he asked. “Toasted, barely done, with lots of stuff on them or with nothing at all? Me, I like just somewhat done with lots of mustard and relish. Or with chili. That’s kind of good too. Hey, you’re from Texas, you probably know all about chili.”

Mike smirked.

“Oh I know chili alright. You can’t get anything _close_ to the real deal here.” He pulled out the hot dogs, some condiments, some sodas…

“Y’think you can gather up some firewood without hurtin’ yourself?”

“Aw, pffft,” Micky said, with a wave of his hand. “Sure I can. I’ll just go find some driftwood on the beach. How dangerous can that be?”

Micky started to walk out, but something that Mike said caught his attention.

“The real deal? Like real Texan chili?” he asked. “Aw man, I’ve heard it’s the best. One of my cousins lives near El Paso, and she said that the chili in Texas is amazing. Meaty and spicy. I love spicy food.”

Mike shook his head.

“You might find yourself changing your mind after tasting it.” he chuckled.

“Ha, you’re on,” Micky grinned, pointing a finger at him. “But I was serious when I said I like hot and spicy food. One time, I ate a whole chili pepper raw. Ok, that actually wasn’t all that great. But I survived. So I bet I’ll like your chili.”

Soon, Micky started to think about how much he wanted to try chili that Mike had made. He’d need to get his hands on the right ingredients. Maybe he could call in some favors from the neighbors with some of them.

Mike watched Micky scamper off to collect firewood with a faint smile on his face. He really wasn’t a bad sort, he reflected. He was the first person Mike had met that had been willing to put up with him for so long. And without asking anything of him in return, that is, aside from asking him to chip in with the rent, but he asked the same of the other two as well.

Nor had he changed at all once Mike started to spend more time around him. Maybe he became a little smug when the other two were startled to find that Mike did in fact have a sense of humor… ok a lot smug, but it didn’t last too long before Micky got distracted by something else.

Micky continued to wander around the beach looked for driftwood. He had found a couple of large pieces and had made the beginnings of a pile with them. But he figured that he should find more so they’d have to enough to burn for a while and to get a few small bits to use as kindling. 

The sun was starting to set, changing the sky from blue to splashes of pink and orange. There was only a gentle wave in the water and some couples walking around close to the edge of shoreline. It was quiet which is how Micky figured Mike would like it.

Suddenly, he spotted some sticks scattered around on the top of the rockier section of the shore. He went over and started climbing up to reach them.

Mike collected the food onto a tray and carried it outside, setting it down near the pile of firewood Micky had collected already. Where was Micky, anyway? He scanned the beach in the soft light of the sunset. He spotted a figure climbing over the rocks a little ways down the beach. That had to be him.

Micky found the climb getting steadily more difficult the further he went up. Handholds were harder to find and he wasn’t as sure of his footing. Thankfully, he was almost there anyway, so he was able to grab onto a ledge and hoist himself onto a flatter part of the rocks.

He tossed the sticks down onto the beach and stared at where they fell, trying to figure out a safe way for him to get down. For a split second, he thought about jumping, but realized that that might be a bad idea.

Mike walked down the beach to stand at the base of the rock face, arms crossed, staring up at Micky.

“Oh hi, Mike,” Micky said, waving at him. “I guess you might be wondering what I’m doing up here. Um, well….hey, look, I got plenty of sticks for the bonfire.”

Micky looked back down at the rocks below. He might be able to go down the way he came. As long as he didn’t try to overthink it as he descended. Then again, Mike might not like it if he fell again so soon. 

He turned and saw what looked like a shorter way down on the other side of the rock. It also looked rougher and craggier which might make it easier to climb on.

“Micky, you be careful up there! Y’already hurt yerself once t’day. I don’t need ya fallin’ down and breakin’ yer leg too.” Mike shouted up at him. “Hot dogs ain’t worth a trip t’the hospital.” For crying out loud he couldn’t take his eyes off of him for a minute without Micky getting into some sorta trouble.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got this,” Micky shouted. At least, he was pretty sure that he did. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Micky took a deep breath and crouched down so he could start climbing down the side of the rock. As it turned out, there were a lot of handholds and places to put his feet, but they weren’t very big. Thus, he still had to go really slow.

He had almost made it down when the tiny ledge he had put his foot on crumbled, sending him down onto the beach. He ended up landing on his back with dull “thud”.

Mike was slightly alarmed as he ran over to see Micky lying flat on his back in the sand. He hadn’t heard him cry out though, so he slowed to a walk as he got closer. He stopped and looked down at Micky.

“See, this is what I was talking about when I asked if you could gather firewood without hurting yourself.” At this rate he’d end up staying just to make sure Micky stayed out of trouble. He would leave, and then a few weeks later would run into Davy or Peter, and they would tell him that Micky had landed himself in the hospital after doing some dumb stunt… and Mike hadn’t been there to stop him.

He held out his hand to help Micky up.

“You alright?”

“Sure, I’m fine,” he said, taking Mike’s hand. He hoisted himself up and started brushing sand off his pants. “And that doesn’t really count because I didn’t get hurt this time. It was only a couple of feet and I landed on the sand.”

He wasn’t sure if Mike would buy that line of reasoning, but it seemed sound to him. He bent down to gather up the sticks.

“Hey, did we have all the food we need?” he asked. “You didn’t forget the mustard, right?”

Micky started walking over to the pile he had made. That was probably enough wood for just cooking some things, but he wondered if it would last all evening. 

Mike rolled his eyes.

“No, I didn’t forget the mustard.” he drawled, relieved that Micky was ok. “You think we got enough firewood?”

“Maybe,” Micky said, continuing to brush himself off. “We could always use some more. And hey, we need some long sticks if we’re gonna cook stuff. How about you set up the blanket and things and I’ll go grab some more driftwood?”

Micky didn’t really wait for an answer before circling around Mike and seeing if there were any pieces he had missed in the immediate area.

Mike shook his head and began setting up. He’d just about managed to get the fire started when Micky returned.

“Ok, I think we got enough firewood now,” Micky said, dropping the bundle of wood onto the ground. Thankfully, most of it landed on the pile he had already made. “And I got us some sticks for cooking with. Check this one out. You could cook more than one thing with the way those branches stick out.”

Micky dropped to his knees and gathered the rest of the wood back into the pile. By now he was ready to eat again after running up and down the beach.

“Groovy.” Mike replied as he coaxed the flame into life. The wood was nice and dry and the fire soon consumed the kindling and was moving on to the larger pieces. He stood up and stepped back as the fire grew into a roaring blaze.“Let that burn for a bit and we should be good to go.” he said, brushing the sand off his knees.

Micky nodded and watched the fire. He figured that Mike knew plenty about making safe fires so it was easy to leave it to him. 

“Did you do this a lot in Texas?” Micky asked. “Cook out with a bonfire? My family used to do it sometimes. Especially if we were on vacation. My mom would make us the most gooey s’mores ever.”

Mike shrugged.

“Occasionally.” he replied, eyes fixated on the dancing flames, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. He’d actually hated those gatherings, being surrounded not just by his extended family but by their friends as well, people he didn’t know giving him and his mom disapproving looks and commentary.

This though… this was nice.

“That’s groovy,” Micky said. “I love cooking out by campfires. Well, most of the time I do. There was this one time I was sent to summer camp. Man, we had the worst camp counselor ever. Anyway, he set up the campfire and he kept letting it go out or would douse it with too much lighter fluid. I thought for sure I was going to end up with burnt hair.”

Micky grabbed a stick and put a hot dog on the end, in anticipation for starting to cook.

“Of course, it was still better to do that than to eat this guy’s breakfast. He always used powered eggs. Yuck.” Micky stuck his tongue out for emphasis.

Mike smiled at that. The sun had set by now, the sky stained with deep reds and oranges in the early twilight. The fire blazed cheerfully. Mike prepared his own stick after watching Micky do it. He actually didn’t have much experience  doing this sort of thing, although he got the general idea…

“Yeah, we should be able to start cooking now,” Micky said, grabbing his stick and moving it near to the fire. He waved it back and forth, trying to avoid letting his hot dog being caught on fire again.

“Why do powdered eggs exist anyway?” Micky asked. “They are one of the grossest things ever. Right up there with powdered milk. Which he also would serve us. It’s one of the reasons why I got into pouring orange juice on my cornflakes.” 

“One of the reasons?” Mike chuckled as he held his own skewered hotdog out towards the flames.

“Well ok, I sort of did it the first time on a dare,” Micky said. “One day, we were kinda low on milk, and Coco dared me to put coffee on my cereal instead of milk. I said ‘no way’ and went for the orange juice instead. Mom said I had to eat it all because I did that. It was kinda gross at first, but it got better.”

Micky twirled the stick in his hands, watching sparks snap near the edges of the fire. 

“We should do this more often,” he said. “This is much better than that hot dog stand around the corner. I swear, Pete has no taste in food.”

“Of course it was  a dare…” Mike muttered, slightly amused. “Oh he has taste alright.” he continued, “Just not good taste. After all, it must taste good to him, right?”

“Who knows what Pete is thinking when he eats,” Micky laughed. “I think he thinks eating is supposed to be this weird adventure every time. I mean, sure, try new things and all, but he takes it too far. You’ve never had his ketchup pasta.”

Micky shuddered and went back to the task at hand. The hot dog was starting to look done to him, but he still thought it should cook for a little longer.

Mike pulled his hotdog out of the fire. It looked good to him. He pulled it off his stick with a bun and setting it down before adding condiments. It was good. When was the last time he’d had a hotdog like this? It’d been a while that’s for sure.

“Careful you don’t burn yours too badly Mick.”

“Aw don’t worry, I won’t….”

Just as he said that, a flame leaped a little higher and latched onto his hot dog. Micky waved it around, but that just made the flame more robust. Then he drew the stick back and blew on it furiously. Eventually, it was put out, but that point, there was a layer of char on it.

“Oh well,” Micky shrugged. He picked up a hot dog bun and slipped his frank into it. “That’s what mustard is for. Mustard makes a lot of things good.”

Mike giggled. He couldn’t help it. Micky had looked so ridiculous frantically waving his hotdog around with that panicked expression of his.

“Famous last words, huh Micky?”

“Only if I wasn’t gonna eat it,” he said, sticking out his tongue at Mike. 

Once he was finished slathering his hot with relish and mustard, he took a huge bite out of it. He could still taste the burnt skin of it, but it wasn’t hard to ignore it. He had a little trouble swallowing it so he washed it down with a swig of a soda.

“Hey Mike….have you thought about joining the band permanently?” 

Mike chewed his hotdog to put off answering.

“Sometimes.” he answered once he had swallowed. “I mean, it is pretty groovy playin’ with you guys. And, well, it was nice of ya t’ let me stay…” He pulled his legs up to his chest.

“But…” he sighed. “I’m not sure I’m really what yer looking for, y’know?”

“Why not?” Micky asked after taking another large bite. He waited until he swallowed to continue. “You’re good at playing guitar. And you helped us get all the money we were supposed to at that last gig. And you keep us organized for practice. What else would we need?”

Micky finished off his hot dog and then watched Mike thoughtfully. He understood that Mike like to really think things through and turn them around in his mind. Then again, Micky believed that it was possible to overthink things. In fact, he frequently thought Mike did just that.

Mike shrugged.

“Well… I don’t want you t’ feel like y’ _have_ to have me in the band just because I’m here. There could be someone else who would work with y’all.” _Someone easier to get along with_ , he thought to himself as he gazed into the fire. Still… was it really a bad idea? At least he knew these guys already… He took another bite of his hotdog.

“Well sure, someone else could come along and want to join the band,” Micky said after another gulp of his soda. “But that doesn’t mean me, Davy and Pete would want them to join. There’s more to being in a band than just playing music. Or just hanging around.”

Micky stuck another hot dog onto his stick and held it near the fire. “Well, it’s up to you,” he said. “I know Davy and Pete would like you to join. But if you got another offer or something…we can dig it.”

“Wait… they would? I thought… I thought Davy at least would’ve been glad t’see me go.”

“Nah, you know Davy, everything’s a contest with him,” Micky said, twirling the stick around. “He was just checking you out. You know, seeing if you were gonna be a problem or something. But he’s figured out that you’re all right. He just isn’t big on sharing that stuff.”

“Oh.” Mike said softly. “You mean… you guys actually like having me around? I thought…” he trailed off.

“Well sure,” Micky said. “Yeah, you’re kinda quiet, but that’s ok. At least you’re not doing a bunch of annoying stuff. And you’re responsible. You help out a lot. We seem to do better with our music when you’re around. And you’re funny. Why wouldn’t we want you around?”Micky’s face fell as he listed off the reasons. He figured that Mike simply knew that they were fine with him living there. He didn’t like to think that the Texan still had his doubts.

Mike tossed another log onto the fire, watching the sparks fly into the night.

“No one ever wants me to hang around.” he said softly, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I’m just a skinny loser with a hat.”

“No you’re not,” Micky insisted. “Sure, you’re thin, but all of us are. So it’s not that big a deal. And I like your hat. It’s a groovy hat.”

Micky scooted over closer to Mike. He never enjoyed hearing the Texan talk like that and figured now might the time to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Do you like going camping?” he asked. “Or hiking? You know, outdoorsy stuff?”

“What, for fun?” Mike shrugged despondently. “I can’t say I’m too keen on sleeping outside unless I have to. As for hiking… yeah, I guess.” He set his chin on his knees.

“Just some skinny, long-haired, country hick from the Middle of Nowhere, Texas.” he muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Micky repeated. “Besides, what’s wrong with long hair? We all got that. I think it looks rather stylish.” He flicked his hair with his fingertips and moved a little closer to Mike.

“Ya know, it doesn’t really matter where you come from,” Micky said softly. “It just matters who you are, what you do. If you’re a nice person or not. So don’t worry about it.”

Micky looked over at his stick and his eyes bulged when he saw that this hot dog was on fire too.

Mike chuckled at that.

“So much for liking them only somewhat toasted.” He sighed. “It’s just… I don’t want to ruin this for you guys.”

“You won’t,” Micky assured him as he blew on his hot dog. “That is, unless you’re planning on going on some rock ‘n roll rampage or something. Ya know, busting up hotel rooms and showing up stoned for interviews. Save that stuff for when we get famous.”

Micky finished blowing on the hot dog and stared at the results. He wasn’t thrilled to get another burned hot dog, but he was also too hungry to make a big deal out of it.

Mike chuckled again.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m gonna be the one making sure _you_ don’t do any of that?” he teased gently. “It’s just… I’ve never had anything like this before. I’ve never… I’ve never met anyone like you guys.”

“Nah, I only bust up stuff if it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to,” Micky giggled. “Then, I think it’s allowed anyway.”

Micky paused and chewed on his hot dog for a moment before swallowing and speaking again.

“Honestly, I’ve never met anyone like you either, so we’re even there. It’s fun, to be able to hang around different people.”

Mike shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean.” He was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never met anyone who… who actually, genuinely cared.” he whispered. “Not like you guys do.”

Micky blinked in surprise and frowned. He wanted to say that Mike was probably wrong about that and there had to be people who cared. Then again, maybe there hadn’t been. Micky knew that not everyone had nurturing families growing up. He knew a couple guys who didn’t when he was in school. 

Still, that made it so he wasn’t sure what else he could say to something like that. 

“Well….yeah, you seem like a groovy guy and all,” Micky said, hesitant. “Maybe just a little hard to get to know. But that’s ok. I’m glad we met each other. I think Peter and Davy are glad too.”

Mike wrapped his arms tighter around his legs as he stared at the fire and then at the ground, avoiding Micky’s gaze. He’d said too much already.

Micky glanced over at Mike. He suspected that the Texan was getting burned out by talking about personal feelings. Maybe it was time to lighten the mood.

“Hey…did I ever tell you that I’m part Indian?” he asked.

Startled, Mike turned and looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re _what_? I thought you said you were part Italian!” To be fair, Micky’s ethnicity wasn’t really that obvious to look at him. With his almond-shaped eyes, flat face, and prominent chin, it was hard to pinpoint where his family could’ve come from.

“Does this make us enemies now?”

“Only if you dig out your six-shooter,” Micky laughed. “But yeah, my dad is Italian all the way. But my mom has a lot of Indian ancestry. Mainly Chickasaws. When I went to camp, I mentioned it when we had one of our ‘getting to know everyone’ sharing sessions. So everyone thought I’d be really good at using a bow and arrow.”

Micky took a long swig of his soda and chuckled. “Instead, I ended up shooting an arrow into the tire of one of our camp jeeps. After that, they were a little less eager for me to stick with archery.”

“That’s pretty groovy.” Mike replied. Did he actually finish his hotdog? He must have, since he didn’t see it on the paper plate nearby. Did he want another hotdog? There were still a few left… and Micky’d had two, and the others weren’t there… Maybe he would have another one. Just this once. It’d give him something to focus on, namely not burning it the way Micky always seemed to.

“Yeah,” Micky said, finishing off his soda. “I went to a reservation once right after I finished high school. To learn more about them. And I did a protest march with them while I was there. They were protesting over some land rights and it was pretty clear that they were getting ripped off. Then I had dinner with them. That was a lot of fun. I still write to them once in a while.”

Micky watched Mike pick up another hot dog and smile. The Texan really did not eat enough and it was good to see him loosen up and enjoy himself. “That’s nice of you.” Mike said as he held his stick toward the fire, keeping a close eye on his hotdog impaled on the end.

“I guess so,” Micky shrugged. “I didn’t do that much though. Just did a march and send them some money for legal fees. I just think it’’s bad that people keep trying to take stuff taken away from them, ya know.”

Micky looked over at the hot dogs. He was tempted to have one more just so he’d know that he would’t get hungry at some point in the night. Besides, he was having so much fun, it made sense to him to enjoy himself as much as possible.

Mike nodded, focusing intently on keeping the hotdog close enough to the dancing flames to cook, but not so close it would catch on fire. He hated wasting food. Nor was he particularly keen on chewing on a charred mess.

“Still… even a little bit can make a difference. I’m sure they appreciated it.”

“Yeah, I know they did,” Micky nodded. “I can tell from their letters. Sometimes, I dunno, I think I should do more, ya know. I mean, what’s the point of being a long-haired weirdo if you can’t help people out?”

Micky got out another hot dog and broke off a bit of the stick he was using. Maybe if it was a bit shorter, it would work better.

Mike inspected his hotdog and nodded to himself. A bit toasted, but not crispy the way Micky’s were. He was quiet for a few moments as he assembled it and took a bite, chewing slowly. Finally he spoke.

“You helped me out.” he murmured. “When no one else did.”

“Maybe I was just lucky enough to be the first one to get a chance to,” Micky said smiling. 

Then he went back to roasting his hot dog. He was determined to get one of them done to perfection, so he decided that he needed to talk about something that wasn’t quite as distracting this time.

“Hey, did you like looking at the stars as a kid?” he asked. 

“Yeah, sometimes.” Mike replied with a shrug.

“Groovy, so did I,” Micky nodded. “My dad bought me a book about the stars when I was a kid so I learned all the constellations. I used to practice finding them a couple times a week during the summer.”

“That’s cool.” Mike said. “Wish I’d had a dad like that…” he murmured with a sigh as he took another bite.

“Yeah, I miss him,” Micky said, his smile faltering. Most of the time, he was able to focus on the happier memories of his father. But it had only been a little over a couple of years since he had died so there were moments when Micky found that harder to do.

“Anyway, I was thinking I could show you some of my favorites,” he continued. “What about you? Do you have any favorite constellations?”

“Watch your hotdog there.” Mike cautioned. “Actually… I don’t really know any.” he admitted. No one had ever really pointed them out, though he had seen patterns of bright stars that stood out.

“Oh ok sure,” Micky said, turning his eyes back at his hot dog. It was almost to the level of done that he liked, so he needed to keep focused on it for just one more minute. “Well, that’s ok because I can show them to you. After we’re done with the fire. Then you can figure out which ones you like.”

Micky crinkled his eyes as he stared at his hot dog while it cooked. Soon, it was done and he lifted the stick from the fire with a shout of triumph. 

Mike chuckled.

“Well whaddya know. You can cook a hotdog without setting it on fire in the process.”

Micky stuck his tongue out at him and took a bite before even putting the condiments on. He smiled in satisfaction as he chewed and slathered on the mustard.

“You see that up there?” he said, pointing at the sky while he chewed. “That’s the north star. And if you connect the stars like this.” He traced his finger through the air. “You can see the Big Dipper.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool. Why’s it called that?” Mike asked. He didn’t mind asking. Micky was the sort of guy who loved explaining things while remaining non-judgmental about what you did or didn’t know.

“I think it’s because it sorta looks like a dipper,” Micky said with a shrug. “You know those things they scoop out water with in prison movies and stuff. You can see the handle there leading into the scoop part. Whereas the Little Dipper….” He pointed to a different part of sky. “…has the scoop upside down. So you don’t get much out of it.”

Micky went back to munching on his hot dog, savoring the non-burned flavor. He wasn’t sure if his explanation was completely right, but it made sense.

“Ok, I think I see it now.” Mike replied, before standing up to toss another log on. He sat in silence for a few moments.

“Why did you let me stay?” he asked quietly.

“What? At the pad?” Micky said. “Because it was your place as much as ours. Because you seem like a groovy guy who just needed some help. Because you’re always helping us out. Lots of reasons, I guess.”

Micky wasn’t sure what to say beyond that. It wasn’t as if he, Davy and Peter had gone through a formal decision process to choose if Mike could stay or not. It just sort of happened.

“You barely knew me. I mostly ignored you guys, barely said anything… I don’t know how you didn’t get fed up with me.”

“You don’t really know us either,” Micky shrugged. “And if we can put up with Davy’s endless series of girls, Peter’s kitchen experiments and my werewolf imitations, I don’t know why your quirks would be any harder to deal with.”

Micky shoved the rest of his hot dog into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his hands. He decided to finish chewing this one before speaking again, just because it tasted so perfect.

“Quirks.” Mike repeated. “You think me standin’ in the corner watchin’ y’all is a quirk.” He chuckled. “Most people find it creepy.

Micky shrugged again. He had done acting and music from when he was a kid, so he was used to people watching him. Then again, he imagined that Mike might have a point.

“Well, it might be creepy if you start taking pictures or writing notes on a pad of paper or something,” he joked. “Then, I’d think you were a mad scientist doing a secret experiment.”

“Nah. I was just tryna’ get a feel for you guys. What you’d dragged me into. Not that you made it easy or anythin’.”

“Yeah, because we’re all secretly spies who are gathering information about typical American teens for a nefarious plot,” Micky said, adopting a cheesy European accent. He laughed and leaned backward.

“But no, that makes sense though,” he continued. “It’s probably a good thing to get to know your roommates. So why would it be weird?”

“Well, most people would rather I just ask them, y’dig?” Mike said. “But… I wanted t’be sure you guys were for real.”

“I guess I understand,” Micky nodded. “I mean, there are a lot of people who don’t say what they mean. So asking doesn’t do a whole lot of good in those cases.”

Micky started to gather the ingredients for s’mores. He never really saw the point in playing games in friendships and relationships. It seemed like a lot more trouble than it was worth.

Mike nodded.

“So yeah. I watched you when I thought you didn’t know I was there, and when I knew you knew I was there… and nothing changed.” He sighed. “I didn’t know what to think of you guys. _Particularly_ when you started to use me as a coatrack.”

“Well to be fair, you were a lot sturdier than the coat rack we had at the time,” Micky said with a chuckle. 

Micky opened up the bag of marshmallows and looked around for one to stick on his stick.

“But yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” he added. “To figure out if we were putting you on or something. But none of us are into that, babe. I hope you can see that now.”

“Yeah. Y’all are just weird by default.” he chuckled. “But that’s fine by me. Means I can relax.” He watched Micky fiddling around with the marshmallows, slightly amused.

“Yeah, because bizarre things are so relaxing,” Micky laughed. Then he took on a slightly more serious expression for a moment. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, ya know. So go ahead and relax.”

After finding just the right marshmallow, Micky stuck it on his stick. He was about to toast it when he decided he better get out his chocolate bar and graham crackers first. 

“But it means I don’t need t’ worry about you thinkin’ _I’m_ weird.”

“Don’t worry about that, babe,” Micky laughed. “We already think you’re weird. But that’s cool because we’re all a little different.”

Micky snapped off a piece of a candy bar and sat it carefully onto half of one of the graham crackers. Then he held out his marshmallow to the fire.

Mike nibbled on a graham cracker as he watched Micky work.

“Yea… we are.” But not as much as you’d think, Mike thought. “Careful you don’t set that on fire too.” He stretched his legs out before reaching for a marshmallow. It’d been a while since he’d last tasted a toasted marshmallow. He impaled it on his stick and held it out.

“If you’d told me when I first moved in that in a few months I’d be sittin’ on the beach toastin’ marshmallows w’ you… I’d’ve thought you were crazy.“

“Aw, I won’t burn it,” Micky said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m just warming it up a little. I can’t eat burnt marshmallows. At least, not on s’mores.”

Micky twirled his stick back and forth for only a moment longer before moving it away. Then he mashed the marshmallow between the pieces of graham cracker.

“Why?” Micky said. “Don’tcha like cookouts?”

“No, it’s more that I didn’t expect t’be here this long. Either you’d’ve gotten fed up with me an’ kicked me out or I’d’ve found steady work and moved on.” He rotated his marshmallow to make sure it cooked evenly, then pulled it out as it was starting to slide around. He placed it on the cracker he’d been nibbling on, then took a bite.

“Gahhh” It was a sugary, gooey mess.

“Wha-what’s the matter?” Micky said, concerned. “Too hot?”

Micky shoved most of his s’more into his mouth and scooted back over closer to Mike. The marshmallow didn’t look that singed. And it usually didn’t take long for it to cool once it was on the cracker. 

“Difdth youf frgrrt thooo cwhoowate?” Micky asked around the huge bite in his mouth.

Mike shook his head.

“Nah. I’d just forgotten how much of a mess these are t’ eat. And just how sweet they are.” He had marshmallow goo all over his fingers now.

Micky gulped down what was in his mouth. “That’s what makes it so good. They’re hot and sweet and a mess. Just like desserts should be. Unless they’re ice cream.”

Micky shoved the bit that was left in his mouth and chewed. He fished out another marshmallow and put it on the end of his stick.

“Hey, if you look over there,” he said, pointing at the sky. “You can see Perseus. It was named after a hero in Greek mythology.”

“That’s groovy. What’d he do?” Mike asked as he sucked on his fingers to clean off the marshmallow.

“Well, probably the most famous thing he did was kill the Medusa,” Micky said, waving his stick back and forth. “She was this evil monster who had snakes for hair and who could turn people into stone by just looking at ‘em. Anyway, Perseus outsmarted her and cut off her head. Then he used the head to turn another bigger monster into stone and saved an entire kingdom.”

Satisfied with how hot his marshmallow was, Micky slipped it off into another set of s’mores. “I read a lot of mythology as a kid.”

“That’s pretty cool. What about those stars there? Are they part of anythin’?” Mike asked, pointing up at the sky. “The ones that kinda looks like a sideways ‘W’?”

“Ah, that’s Cassiopeia,” Micky said. “She was a queen and her daughter was Andromeda. Actually, Andromeda was the one who was gonna get eaten by the huge monster Perseus killed with the Medusa head. Instead, Perseus ended up marrying Andromeda. The myth is that Poseidon, the god of the oceans, put Cassiopeia up in the heavens on a throne and that’s why we have that constellation.”

Micky chomped on his latest s’mores. He enjoyed talking about the constellations and mythology behind the names. It wasn’t very often that he got to do stuff like this with his friends.

Mike smiled. He rather liked listening to Micky explain things like that. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would think about asking about normally, but it was still neat to learn about.

“Most of the constellations are named from Greek mythology,” Micky added. “So I used to think about the sky being full of light and stories. I’d lay on my back on a blanket in my yard and stare up at the night sky. It was fun.”

Micky got out another marshmallow. He was getting full for a change and figured this would be his last one. 

“Huh. That’s pretty neat.” Mike said. “All by yourself?” He leaned back to lie on the sand, hat pillowed under his head to keep the sand out of his hair. The stars sparkled above him. Stories written in the stars…

“What else is there?” he asked. “In the stars?”

“Sometimes by myself,” Micky nodded. “Sometimes with my dad. After he…well, I used to sit out all night and watch the stars again. It gave me something to do so I wouldn’t have to think about stuff too much.”

He held his marshmallow by the fire. “There’s lot of stories there. And there’s probably life out there. Somewhere. At least I think so. I wonder if they stare at the stars and wonder about us.”

“Actually I was meant, like, constellations, but that’s pretty groovy.” He paused. “I wonder what their music would be like…”

“Hey, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” Micky said. “Would they even use instruments or could they just transmit music with their minds and bodies? And what kind of music would they even like? I bet ya they’d like the Beatles. Man, everybody likes them.”

Micky’s mind whirled at the possibilities of jamming with people from space. Their music might be totally different than that, but he figured that that was ok. Somehow, all music fit together, it seemed like. It was just a matter of finding the right rhythms. 

“Or maybe the Beatles’d be the one thing they don’t like. Or maybe they like th’ sound of machinery, build their machines so they sing when turned on, all the creakin’ and groanin’ noises harmonizin’ somehow…” He fell silent, embarrassed. That sounded silly.

“Yeah, maybe,” Micky said. “Or maybe they’d just like the sounds of nature, ya know. Bird singing, water moving, that kind of stuff.” Micky fell silent for a moment and then tilted his head back in thought. “Or maybe they’d like classical. I read once that some music, like some classical pieces, are almost like mathematics with how they’re written. And a lot of scientists say that math might be the only language aliens would understand.”

Micky rocked back even further and gazed up at the stars. It’d been a long time since he had last spent a night looking at them. But tonight was so clear and warm, it was actually a good night for it.

Mike hummed quietly to himself as he watched the sky. The soft noise of the surf, the crackling of the fire… it was relaxing. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him, mind spinning with possibilities.

Micky glanced over at Mike and grinned. He was glad that the Texan seemed to be enjoying himself. It wasn’t very often that he was able to convince Mike to do stuff like this.

Still, their conversation earlier had left Micky with a few questions of his own. Or rather, it had reminded him of ones he had had for a while. Now seemed like a good time to maybe get one or two of them answered.

“Hey, um, Mike…you were wondering why we let you stay….and uh, I was wondering…why did you choose to stay?”

“It was either that or freeze in an alley.” Mike replied, opening his eyes. “An’ I hate bein’ cold.” He could have left it at that, but Micky had answered his questions…

“An’ I was curious I guess. I wanted t’ see what you’d do next.”

“I didn’t think I was that interesting,” Micky laughed. “Then again, I can do a mean Cagney. That always draws ‘em in. I usually have to beat the girls back with a stick.”

Honestly, Micky didn’t think he was very interesting at all. He was too nerdy. And too open. People could hang around him for an hour and have him figured out. Mike was a lot more intriguing. Even after living with him for a while, the Texan still seemed mysterious to him. 

Mike chuckled.

“An’ here I thought Davy was the ladies’ man.” he drawled. “Seems I was mistaken. An’ you’re plenty interestin’, at least to a mistrustful stranger who di'n’t understand why you’d tracked ‘im down and invited him t’ stay wi’ you. An’ why y’kept bein’ friendly when all I did was watch y’all.”

“The girls were never as cute as the ones Davy gets,” Micky chuckled. “I had to settle for the ones that couldn’t get through the wall of chicks.”

Micky leaned to the side and looked Mike over. “I always wanted to play detective. So looking for you helped me live out my dreams. Besides, I wanted to thank you for taking care of me during that crazy situation where we met.”

“Mmm… You… You were the strangest person I’d ever met. I mean,” he hastened to clarify, “uh…. the, the Cleaning Ghost? Sacrifices of sandwiches? The coatrack thing? The werewolf impressions? Hiding in the other bedroom with Peter and pretendin’ t‘ be shootin’ a wildlife documentary? Mick, I’ve never met _anyone_ who gets up up to half the stuff you do.”

“Yeah, my mom always said I was a handful,” Micky laughed. “I prefer to think of it as living a creative life. Besides, what’s the point of life if you don’t have a little fun everyday?”

Micky laid down on his side and watched the fire. “To be honest, most people don’t put up with my humor as long as you have. That’s probably why you notice more than other people do.”

“You put up with me, I put up with you.” Mike chuckled. “It’s only fair. Besides, I kinda liked it. I guess ‘cuz you weren’t bein’ mean about it. You were jus’ messin’ around.”

“Yeah,” Micky nodded. He didn’t see much of a point to being mean most of the time. Sure, some people got on his nerves, but a snarky remark was usually enough for him before he took off from the situation. Micky usually preferred to avoid conflict and picking on someone would be a lousy way to do that.

“I don’t know, I think you’re funny,” Micky added. “And you’re smart. You know, grounded. You’re fun to be around, I think.”

“You really think so…” Mike murmured. Most people didn’t appreciate his sense of humor, or even realized he had one at all.

“Sure,” Micky smiled at him. “I mean, yeah, you’re not doing pratfalls or hamming up your punchlines, but you’re still funny. At least I think so. And, and I like how you’re interested in stuff. Man, so many people act like there’s nothing to learn after high school. But you don’t do that, and I think it’s groovy.”

Micky turned his head toward the sky. The moon was coming out and looked as if it would be full or almost full tonight.

“Never finished high school.” Mike mumbled. “Maybe that’s why.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, he didn’t like to be reminded of that, but something about Micky encouraged that sort of sharing.

“Yeah, high school can be a drag,” Micky nodded. “I finished as fast as I could so I could get out.”

Truthfully, not all the classes had been too bad. Micky had enjoyed his science classes. But history had been boring to him and he hadn’t cared for the culture of high school at all. So when he was given a chance to graduate early, he jumped at it.

“Mmm.” Mike grunted in agreement. The fire had died down by now, to a pile of glowing embers with a few tongues of flickering flame dancing about. Maybe it would be good to stay…

* * *

The meal was pretty much over and the fire was almost dead, but Micky didn’t really want to move. He was happy to listen to the waves lap against the shore and watch the stars get brighter and brighter in the sky.

Even more importantly, he was content being here with Mike. Something about the Texan’s presence was calming in a way that he wasn’t used to. 

“Hows yer arm feelin’?” Mike asked after a few minutes.

“Better,” Micky said. “But it itches. At least my head stopped hurting.”

Micky laid all the way down and stared up at the sky. He could easily sleep out here if he wasn’t so worried about people bugging him when they showed up on the beach in the morning.

“Hey Mike, do you think flying saucers are real?”

Mike shrugged.

“I’ve never seen one.” he said. And he didn’t really think much of those who claimed they had. Considering how popular drugs of all sorts were these days, he was more inclined to put down those sightings as hallucinations rather than anything concrete.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen a thousand dollar bill either,” Micky replied. “Doesn’t mean it’s not real.” 

Micky lifted his head and laced his fingers together into a pillow before sitting it back down. The fire was out and by now the stars were twinkling in the sky.

“I just think it’d be groovy if they were real,” he added. “And that aliens were coming to visit us. I wonder what they’d think of us. Would they think we’re really primitive and not like us? Or maybe they’d want to make friends and help us out.”

“I’ve never even heard of a thousand dollar bill.“ Mike drawled. He yawned. “I think y’ made tha’ up.”

“No, no they’re real all right,” Micky insisted. “My dad knew a guy who collected rare coins and stuff. And he said he had a thousand dollar bill in his collection. He said Grover Cleveland was on it. Which I didn’t get. I mean, why Grover Cleveland? Shouldn’t it be…I dunno, Thomas Jefferson or something. Someone people actually know something about?”

“Heh.”

Mike was getting sleepy. The food, the warm night air, the soft sand underneath him, the gentle noise of the surf and the crickets… He should probably go inside, but he was enjoying Micky’s chatter and didn’t really want to interrupt him.

“…and that’s another thing, shouldn’t they change who they have on the money once in a while? It’d be a cool way to get people to learn more about history. Oh and what would you do if the aliens offered you a ride to their planet? Would you go or would you wanna stay here? Man, I don’t know what I would do….”

Micky continued to talk, enjoying the chance to ramble on about stuff that interested him. He was getting drowsy himself, but he was also too happy to want to go to sleep any time soon.

“Maybe… as long as they don’ think we’re some kinda delicacy…” he murmured.

“Oh man, that would be awful,” Micky said. “I don’t wanna to be made into a casserole. But…but maybe we’d be lucky and the aliens wouldn’t want to eat us. Maybe they’d just eat pills for food. I wonder what kind of flavors they would have. Like Martian Ice Cream or Venusian Chili Sauce. You know, that might be a groovy meal to have. Some chili and ice cream. Do you know how to make chili? I’ve heard it’s really good in Texas….”

“Oh it is. Maybe I’ll… make ye some… ‘fore I leave…” Mike yawned again. “‘S gettin’ late… sh’d probably gather this up an’ head in…” He sat up and gathered up the food and stuff, the moonlight providing enough light to see by. “Thanks Mick. This was… this was nice.”

“You’re welcome, babe,” Micky grinned at him. “But…what did you mean, ‘before you leave’?”

Micky threw some more sand on the fire with a worried frown on his face. He had thought that Mike was changing his mind about leaving. But now, Micky wondered if Mike had changed it again and was still thinking of taking off.

“Mm…” Mike shrugged. “Jus’ messin’ with ya.” He probably _was_ going to stay, he realized. Micky was the best company he’d had. He would miss him, Mike realized. That wasn’t something he could say about very many people at all. And if the other two really did want him to stay… He took the tray and headed inside.

Maybe he would hang around.

Micky smirked and very lightly smacked Mike in the arm as the Texan walked by him. He turned to look up at the sky for one last long moment before following Mike into the pad.

Once inside, he grabbed another one of the sodas away from Mike and popped the cap off with a bottle opener. He had really enjoyed their meal and was a little drowsy, but he wasn’t ready to go to bed quite yet.

“Micky, you’re never gonna get to sleep if y’ keep loadin’ up on sugar.” Mike drawled as he put everything away. “An’ I’m not gonna be able t’ sleep if you’re bouncin’ off the furniture.”

“But Mike, I don’t wanna sleep now,” Micky whined. “I’m having too much fun. Hey, let’s listen to some music.”

He dashed over to the jukebox and started flipping through the controls. Soon, the Beatles’ _I Wanna Hold Your Hand_ started up with Micky dancing around to it.

Mike chuckled as he sat down on the couch and watched Micky goof around. He looked ridiculous.

Micky continued to dance, looking over to grin at Mike every once in a while. Eventually he went over and grabbed one of Mike’s gavels, using it as a microphone. 

“When IIIII say that something,” Micky sang. “I wanna hold your haaaaaand.” He waved at Mike. “Come on, babe. You take a verse.”

“Micky… I’m not singing.” Mike said, shaking his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t like singing, but he really didn’t think Micky wanted to hear his voice… and if he did sing, Micky would probably try to get him to sing at a gig. And that Mike flatly refused to do.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Micky said, pouting. He only kept that look for a moment though before reaching over and grabbing Mike’s hand.

“Come on, dance with me then,” he said, pulling the Texan off the couch. He didn’t think Mike would actually do it, but for some reason it felt a little less awkward to be the only one dancing as long as Mike wasn’t just sitting around watching him.

Mike yelped in surprise as Micky pulled him up.

“Micky!” He didn’t dance. Not well at least. He was all arm and leg. He stumbled over his feet before narrowing his eyes at Micky.

Micky noticed the way the Texan was glaring at him, but merely grinned even more in response. He had probably annoyed Mike a little, but in Micky’s mind that needed to happen once in a while. It was too easy for Mike to get caught up in living inside his head. Therefore, he needed someone to prod him into remembering to have fun once in a while.

And Micky didn’t mind being the one to do it. In fact, he considered it a sort of challenge. 

“Oh hey, one of my favorite songs is next, ya know,” he said, still hopping around. “You ever hear _Purple People Eater_?”

“Say what?” Mike said in disbelief. “I can’t say I have.” He was actually oddly pleased that Micky hadn’t backed off when he scowled. He hadn’t really meant it seriously anyway.

“Oh man, then you’re in for a treat,” Micky laughed. “It’s a stupid song, but it’s great too. Although, maybe not to dance to.”

Micky stopped just as the Beatles song wound down and then held out his arms toward the jukebox in anticipation for the next song to start. It wasn’t long before a rollicking guitar and shouts started up and Micky bobbed his head from side to side.

 _‘ Well I saw the thing comin’ out of the sky_  
It had the one long horn, one big eye  
I commenced to shakin’ and I said “ooh-eee”  
It looks like a purple eater to me’ 

“Great, huh?” Micky giggled.

“Uh…” Mike said. “Well it’s certainly uh, different…” And it certainly was the sort of thing Micky would dig.

“Yeah, exactly,” Micky said, laughing. “It’s dumb, but it’s different. And fun. I think that’s a lot better than some boring song where someone whines about not being chosen for a prom date.”

Micky continued to lip-sync the lyrics just because they were so goofy to sing along to.

Mike chuckled and shook his head.  

“There are a lot of songs like that aren’t there.”

“Too many,” Micky said. “That’s why I don’t wanna do that kind of “teen pity party” stuff in our music. Sure, breakups and stuff, but no ‘aw, she went to the drive in movie with him instead of me’ songs.”

Micky swayed as he continued to sing. This wasn’t a great song to dance to, but that never stopped Micky from trying.

“I c’n dig that.” Mike said. He wasn’t too keen on that sorta thing either. It just sounded like whining to him. And the way they tended to go on about it often made it sound like the girl would be better off with the other guy anyway.

“So yeah, music should make you feel stuff, but it should be fun too,” Micky said as the song wound down. “And worrying about high school stuff doesn’t seem like much fun to me.”

The next song that came up was _Sea of Love._ Micky swayed and acted as if he was a lounge singer belting out the song. But then he got more serious and just tried waltzing by himself to the tune.

Mike watched him for a little bit, before moving in to awkwardly take Micky’s hands and shuffle his feet in time. He didn’t really know what he was doing, and didn’t want to step on Micky’s feet, but it looked like Micky needed a partner for what he was trying to do.

Micky blinked in surprise but immediately smiled at Mike and moved closer to him. It might have seemed awkward, but he was loving the fact that he was dancing with Mike and having a moment like this with the Texan.

He made sure to take on a more serious expression and let Mike lead as the music played on. 

Mike frowned slightly as he concentrated on moving his feet, focusing on that rather than the fact that he was dancing with a guy, something he’d never really expected to find himself doing. Much less enjoy. And yet, here he was.

Micky smiled and put his arm around Mike’s back. “Don’t worry about the steps so much, babe,” he said. “Just…let the music movie you.”

He rubbed Mike’s back and continued to let the Texan lead. He figured that would make Mike more comfortable and make it easier for him to dance without worrying about doing it “right”. 

“This is nice,” Micky said. “You ever dance with a guy before?”

Mike shook his head. That was a sure way to get your teeth kicked in and his teeth were bad enough already.

“Haven’t really danced with that many girls either.” he replied. “’Least not like this.” He’d been to a couple school dances, sure, but the girls there hadn’t been interested in a skinny weirdo like him.

Micky laughed. “I danced with a guy once when I was in drama class. Sandy was sick so I had to practice this ballroom scene with the lead actor ‘cause no one else felt like doing it. It was funny, but he was kinda boring.”

Micky drew in closer and held onto Mike’s hand more. “I think dancing’s kinda like hugging someone to music. That’s why there’s really no way to screw it up unless you’re not digging it.”

Mike smiled slightly.

“Maybe that’s why I haven’t had much luck with this before.” He wasn’t much for hugs. The song was coming to an end, much to Mike’s relief. Micky was a very tactile person, and while Mike had mostly gotten used to that, this was starting to make him uncomfortable. He released Micky and stepped back.

Micky smiled and took a step back as well. He was surprised that Mike was willing to dance a whole song with him and figured that the Texan might need a little space now.

The jukebox started up with _Jailhouse Rock_ and Micky grinned and started to gyrate his hips while mouthing the lyrics.

Mike watched Micky with amusement, leaning against the wall and folding his arms, pleased that Micky hadn’t objected to his stepping away. The dancing had been nice though. It was different, but a good different. Much like Micky was.

Micky continued to dance around until the song was over and finished by jumping up onto the couch into a triumphant pose. Once that was done, In My Life started up and Micky plopped down onto the couch.

“Did you always think you’d be a musician?” he asked. “Or was there something else you wanted to do?”

“Man… there’s nothin’ I wanted more than t’be a musician.” Mike said, a touch wistfully. “T’see that I c’n bring happiness t’ people jus’ by pickin’ up a guitar… I thought I could make it big on my own, y’know? So I came out here.” He sighed. “And y’know how well that turned out.” he muttered.

“Yeah, you met us,” Micky said, smiling. “So that’s a plus, right?”

Micky shuffled around and laid down on his back with his feet in the air.

“I always liked music, but I wasn’t going to do it for a career,” he said. “I was thinking about being an engineer. You know, designing machines and stuff. I actually went to college for it for about a year.”

Mike nodded.

“What changed?” he prompted, “That sounds like somethin’ you’d be good at.”

Micky shrugged. “It was fun, I guess. But then I started hanging out with some friends who liked music. And then I met Peter. And well….you know the rest.”

Once in a while, Micky wondered what it would have been like to stick with college. But not enough to regret the decisions he had made thus far.

“You found me.” Mike chuckled, “Guess it’s a good thing for me that you got into music.”

“Yeah,” Micky grinned. He swiveled around again before getting up and heading over to the jukebox again. 

“Got any requests?” he said, turning his head toward Mike. “Or are you good with Motown for a while?”

“Hmm… Y’got anything more… classical?” Mike drawled. Actually, Motown _was_ fine with him, but he felt like yankin’ Micky’s chain a little. “Like, uh… Beethoven?”

Micky made a face. “Not as a 45,” he said. “Hang on a sec.”

He went over from the jukebox to a cabinet near the kitchen. There, he pulled out a record player in a small suitcase, sat it on a stand and plugged it into a wall. Then he dashed upstairs to his room. When he returned, he had a record sleeve in his hand. 

“This is an old album of Beethoven piano music that my dad liked,” he said. “I kinda of dig it too once in a while. It makes me think of growing up. That and the opera albums.”

Mike’s eyes widened slightly.

“Huh. Well aren’t you full of surprises.” he drawled. “I was sure you wouldn’t have anythin’ like that.”

“Yeah, I grew up with this and opera,” Micky nodded. “Or my mom’s R&B and country stuff. We listened to all kinds of stuff around my house. I think my dad would have liked it if I had gotten into playing professionally. Ya know, like for an orchestra or something.”

He put the record onto the player and started it up. Soon, soft piano music filled the pad.

“An orchestra?” Mike said skeptically. “You? Sounds pretty boring t’ me.” He couldn’t see Micky doing that at all. It seemed way too stuffy and formal, and there was no way the drummer would be able to hold still for that.

“You ever see those timpani players?” Micky chuckled. “I dunno know about you, but I think that looks like an outtasite drum to play.”

Micky laughed again and watched the record spin on the turntable. 

“But you gotta start on that kind of stuff when you’re a kid,” he continued. “Or you’ll never make a living at it. And I wasn’t really that interested in drums when I was really young. I thought guitar was cooler. And it didn’t take me long to figure out that I’m a better singer than drummer.”

That was probably still true, but Micky didn’t mind that. Playing drums was fun and he figured he did it well enough to not hinder the band.

“Oh I don’t know about that. You drum pretty well, an’ I’ve never met anyone who both drums and sings.” Mike said. “That’s gotta be worth somethin’, right?”

“I guess,” Micky said. “Don’t get me wrong. Drumming’s fun. I like doing it. I just know I’m better at singing anyway.”

Micky was a little surprised at how Mike seemed to want to defend his drumming. Then again, the Texan never did seem to be comfortable when Micky made any comment about himself that could be taken as negative. Even when Micky figured that it was truthful.

“How did you get into drumming then?” Mike asked. How did someone who loved attention the way Micky did end up in the back, playing drums where he would be overlooked by the audience?

“Truthfully, I think it might have been dumb luck,” Micky laughed. “I was learning guitar and getting decent at it. But then my guitar was broken when I fell off a horse. Not long after that, a friend of our family gave us an old drum set his son didn’t want anymore. It sat out in the garage for a while until I finally got curious. Then…well, you can guess the rest.”

Micky went to the kitchen to get another soda from the fridge. It’d been a while since he had listened to his father’s old records. Doing so now felt strangely nostalgic.

“You played for five hours straight?” Mike drawled. “And what were you doin’ fallin’ off a horse?”

“Well, Coco said it’d be cool if I could do a Roy Rogers thing…and it sorta got out of hand,” Micky said. “But yeah, I did play a lot the first day. Got a couple of blisters doing it. I didn’t play that much at one time for a while after that, but it wasn’t long before I decided it was more fun for me to play drums than guitar. At least most of the time.”

The record started to draw to a close and Micky decided to flip it over. He didn’t think Mike would mind that much.““Sorta got outta hand.”” Mike repeated. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I wasn’t always getting into accidents as a kid, ya know,” Micky smirked at him. “I liked stuff like reading science fiction books and working with radio kits. There’s not a lot that can go wrong with hobbies like that.”

Although, Micky did admit to himself that he had gotten himself into a fair amount of scrapes as a child. He wasn’t sure why it happened so much. And honestly, he thought it was probably typical for boys growing up.

“Oh I don’t know… I heard that things like that can give you…” Mike pauses dramatically, “ _Ideas_. And heaven knows there’s nothing more dangerous than a kid with a mind full of ideas.” he drawled.

“Yeah, sure,” Micky laughed. “Ideas about learning stuff and actually trying to figure out stuff in the world. Oooo, scary.”

Micky waggled his fingers at Mike while sticking his tongue out. Truthfully, half the time he wasn’t looking to do anything crazy or destructive with his science-based hobbies. He was just curious to see what would happen. And sometimes that didn’t work out too well.

“Well it probably is scary to some people. The ones who want everything to stay exactly the same as it is.” Mike replied.

“That’s true,” Micky snorted. “Which is boring.”

To some extent though, he could relate to that. He usually didn’t like to worry about stuff changing between his friends or family. But when it came to stuff in his environment, like clothes, music, food and so on, he was always eager for something new.

“It can be, sometimes,” Mike said, “but other times… when everything keeps changing around you… it just gets to be too much.” he finished in a very quiet voice.

Micky looked over at Mike. He wondered how much of a culture shock it had been to move here from Texas. It wouldn’t have been just a change in geography or weather. The culture was probably different even if Texas was only a few states away.

“Well, yeah, I can dig that,” Micky nodded. “Ya don’t wanna change everything at once. Then you’d lose track of everything.”

“Yeah. Even if it does turn out for the better.” Mike responded.

“Yeah, exactly,” Micky said, grinning at him. 

The record finally finished and Micky put it back in its sleeve. He shut the record player back up, stretched his arms over his head and turned to Mike. “What do you want to do now?”

Truthfully, Mike wanted Micky to go to bed. Not because he didn’t care for his company, but because Mike was getting tired himself and generally preferred to be the last one to bed.

“I want…” he drawled thoughtfully, “to brush my teeth.” He rose and headed for the bathroom, adding, “You probably should too after all that sugar you just ate.”

“Eh, I’ll eat an apple,” Micky shrugged. “That’s supposed to help your teeth, right?” 

He sauntered over to the kitchen. Somewhere along the way, he decided to go with a banana instead of an apple. He peeled the skin away and was chomping on it when he headed back for the front room.

“Are you tired? You can go to bed. I can finish up down here.”

Mike finished brushing his teeth, washed his face, and returned to the main room.

“I was thinking I’d play a bit first. That doesn’t look like an apple, Mick.“ he added, catching sight of the banana Micky was eating as he went to pick up his guitar. He sat down on the rise where the practiced and coaxed out a gentle melody.

Micky shrugged. “It’s a fruit. Close enough.” He sat down next to Mike and listened to him play.

The drummer smiled. Micky knew that he was good at singing and decent at drumming, but coming up with music from nowhere was like pulling teeth for him. He was fascinated that Mike seemed to do it effortlessly.

Mike played gently, a relaxing tune filling the air. It wasn’t anything in particular, he was mostly just trying to see if he could get Micky to calm down a bit. Nothing too harsh, nothing too loud, just a gentle melody like the music of flowing water.

Micky bobbed his head with the music. It was a soft, meandering tune which was the kind of thing he enjoyed sometimes. Especially after a long day. At one point, he scratched at the edges around the bandage on his arm, but made sure to stop himself from poking a finger underneath it.

He leaned back against the wall, his eyes growing heavy as his body relaxed and tiredness set in.

Mike smiled as he saw Micky’s eyes droop.

“Sure you don’t want to go to bed yet? You look like you’re about t’fall asleep on me. Am I gonna have to carry you upstairs or can you do it yourself?”

“I’m not *yawn* tired,” Micky said. “’M just….resting my eyes a bit.”

He slouched even more against the wall, folding his arms over his lap. Truthfully, the combination of activity and Mike’s soothing music was having an effect on him. But he was so happy where he was, he didn’t really want to move.

“You’re gonna regret sleepin’ like that in the morning.” Mike drawled. “At th’ very least you could put your pajamas on first.” He paused in his playing. “Go on an’ get ready for bed.”

Micky waved a hand clumsily at Mike, but did not move. Even when the Texan stopped playing. He could still hear the music in his mind and that combined with the sleepiness he already felt and the warmth of the front room made him reluctant to move. 

Instead, he let his head loll to the side, his legs folding closer to him.

Mike set his guitar down and rose to his feet to retrieve a blanket and a pillow, tucking it under Micky’s head and gently moving him into a less uncomfortable position before spreading the blanket over him.

“Sweet dreams, Mick.” he murmured, gently smoothing Micky’s hair. A bit embarrassed, he stood up and finished tidying up around the pad as he always did before bed. That finished, he turned off the lights, went upstairs and got dressed for bed. He crawled into his bed and just laid there for a little while, staring at the ceiling, thinking over everything he’d learned today.

Abruptly, he swung himself out of bed and collected his blanket and pillow. It was too damn quiet in here. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d grown accustomed to Micky’s snores, but sure enough, with Micky dozed off downstairs, he wasn’t going to be able to get to sleep up here.

With a slight sigh he returned downstairs and made himself comfortable on the sofa.

* * *

A few minutes later, Micky’s head slid down the side of the wall, waking him up. He blinked several times, trying to figure out why he was having a hard time seeing until he realized that the lights were off. It took another few seconds for him to realize that he’d been tucked in with a pillow and blanket.

Micky smiled and grabbed the pillow from behind his head. He knew that some people would be surprised by Mike doing that for him, but he wasn’t. Not really. He was pretty sure the Texan was a caring guy if he was given a chance to care. 

He yawned and was about to go upstairs when he heard a sound from the sofa. Carefully, he got up and looked over to see Mike sleeping there. He grinned and picked up his blanket and pillow before walking over there. It’d be tight, but Micky was pretty sure he could manage it.

Micky gingerly sat down onto the couch and maneuvered himself to lie down next to Mike. Once he was there, he jammed the pillow back behind his head and pulled the blanket over him.

“Good night, Mike,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.” 

Micky turned his face toward the ceiling and smiled. He was pretty sure both of them would have good dreams tonight. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he was certain that the two of them had something special happen today. Something significant between the two of them.

Something that would last for years to come.


End file.
